


I Create Myself

by cosimascully



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s04e13 Journey's End, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosimascully/pseuds/cosimascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose gets shot, instead of the Doctor. Journey's End AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Create Myself

Out of all the things the universe does to him— out of all the cruel jokes and tricks and games that he’s been put through— this is the worst.

He’s running when it happens, giddy emotions galloping inside his chest and through his hearts, and he almost believes for a second, a suspended moment in time— one that he can see and sense and taste— he almost believes that he’s lucky, this time

_(That’s the kind of man I am.)_

But—

a shot

blasting through the air, frying the air molecules it touches and creating a smell of ozone

a streak of light that hits her square on

a soft thump as she hits the ground

and he realizes, he’s not so lucky after all.

Has he ever been?

The world snaps. He feels the tendrils of time swirl around him— possibilities he would never consider, paths that were instinctively wrong— he feels the future zoom in and out of focus, and he realizes _he will do anything to keep her safe._

It’s not until he’s got the smoking gun in his hands that he realizes that he’s shot the Dalek, not until her head is in his lap that it registers that he’s reached her.

"Long— long time no see," she says, almost too softly. Her voice is laced with pain.

"Rose—" He chokes out her name. He swallows, thickly.  "You found me."

"Yeah. Didn’t— Didn’t really expect this to happen, though, eh?"

"No," he says, trying, trying to be strong, but his voice cracks and he feels something wet on his cheeks. "Rose," he begins again.

"It’s okay," she whispers.

"No," he protests.

She coughs. “Look, I know this is—hard, for you.” Another cough. “But, please, stand back Doctor.”

“No, I won’t leave you—“

“Doctor!”

There’s something in her voice, something insistent and forceful and hard, a side of her that he has yet to see. His brain operates before he can stop it; he steps back carefully, his eyes not leaving her face.

Then she begins to glow.

Soft, golden tendrils—time itself—whirl around her body, changing and repairing the future, and he sees a possibility pass before his eyes.

_Fingers in his hair, nails against his scalp, lips on his. A whispered word, a promise, a cry of pleasure. Blonde hair against white sheets, pink skin that he wakes up to every morning, hazel eyes that don’t leave his._

_I create myself._

The glowing stops, and Rose lies on the ground panting.

“Ro-rose?”

She sits up slowly, and looks at him.

She’s not hurt. Safe. Unharmed.

“Doctor?”

He runs to her, and this time nothing stops him from reaching her arms.


End file.
